


it is the rain that will strengthen your soul

by lostintranslaation



Series: Touching Heaven [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Appendicitis, Common Cold, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Dramatic Peter Parker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Girl Scout Morgan Stark, Good Friend Ned Leeds, Hypothermia, Laryngitis, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Michelle Jones Needs a Hug, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker has Appendicitis, Sick Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, Wisdom Teeth, accidental drug abuse, we got it all here folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostintranslaation/pseuds/lostintranslaation
Summary: Peter is convinced that he can't get sick. With his spider DNA, he shouldn't be able to, right?Wrong.Or5 times Peter doesn't reach out and 1 time he does.Titles are from "I Have Made Mistakes" by The Oh Hellos.This work is part of a series. I recommend that you read it in order. (But you do you boo boo)
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Touching Heaven [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577413
Comments: 30
Kudos: 209





	1. all the doubts I've faced (I continue to face them)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Enjoy!

It was a cold day.

The kind of cold that seeps through however many layers you’re wearing, straight through your skin to chill the very marrow of your bones.

The kind of cold that freezes you through, leaving you without enough blankets or hot showers or hot chocolate to thaw you completely. 

The kind of cold that raises the hairs on your arms and makes old injuries ache anew. 

Peter supposed that New York winters were always cold. But they seemed even colder now. 

“How was school kiddo?” Peter set his backpack in the backseat and clicked his seatbelt on, not even looking at Happy when he got in the car. 

“It was alright,” he pointed the vents toward himself and held his hands in front of them. 

Happy turned the heat up and drove back to the Tower. “Is everything okay? Did something happen at school?”

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” Everything was not fine. “Uh- how was your day?”

“My day was… fine.” Happy bristled with discomfort. Usually Peter talked the whole way home from school, even on his bad days. The pressure for conversation was never on Happy. 

“How are Ned and MJ?”

“They’re good.”

“Academic decathlon?”

“Good.” Happy was glad the drive from Peter’s school to the Tower was short. He pulled into the garage and turned the car off. 

Peter day there for a minute before saying anything. “Thanks for the ride.” He pulled his jacket tighter and got out of the car. His chest tightened from ceaseless shivers and it was all he could do just to make it up to the penthouse. His knee was stiff and cracked, every step breaking his leg again and again until he collapsed onto the couch in the living room of the penthouse. His phone buzzed in the pocket of his coat. 

**MJ:** You didn’t look good today at school. I’m coming over. Be there in 5.

Peter rolled over and pulled his coat tighter around his neck and buried his face into the couch. Five minutes. He could make it five minutes. 

Sure enough, five minutes passed and the elevator doors slid open. He heard Michelle unlace her Doc Martens and set them along the wall by the doors. “Peter?” she called from behind the couch. “Peter, where are you?” He rolled over and groaned. Her footsteps approached and he felt her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay, Peter?” Her voice held an edge of fear and Peter felt bad, but all he could do was groan. 

She put her hand on his forehead. It was cold and Peter shifted away from her touch. “You're burning up. I thought you couldn’t get sick,” he slid his eyes open and her lips were pursed in concern. 

“Dunno,” his teeth chattered. “‘m fine. Need more blankets.”

“No, Peter. Sit up.” He tried to push himself up, but failed, falling back into the cushions. She grabbed his shoulders and hoisted him to an upright position. “Have you told Tony you’re sick yet?”

“He’s not home. Girl Scouts trip with Morgs.” He folded his arms and clenched his jaw. 

“Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do.” She ran her hands down his arms and held his hands in her own. “You’re going to go take a cold shower and I’m gonna get a hold of Tony. Then we’re gonna find you some medicine and something to eat. Sound good?”

He closed his eyes and nodded. She pressed her lips to his sweaty forehead and he leaned into her. “Alright,” she pulled him to his feet and he winced as he put weight on his left leg. “You okay? Your leg hurting you?” she whispered. He nodded. “Do you need your cane?”

He shook his head and set his lips in a determined line. “No. ‘m fine.” She snaked her hand under his arms and helped him towards the bathroom. When they made it in, Peter flopped onto the toilet, out-of-breath. 

“Okay. You’re going to take a cold shower. If you try to take a hot shower, FRIDAY will tell me. Right FRI?”

“That’s right,” FRIDAY answered.

“I’m gonna go scrounge up some food for you. Are you good in here? Do you need any help?” Peter shook his head. “Have FRIDAY tell me if you need anything.” She closed the door behind her as she walked out. 

“Happy, I’m watching over a gaggle of girls on a camping trip. This better be important.” Tony kept his voice down to not disturb the lesson on campfire-making that the girls were partaking in. 

_ “It’s about Peter. He really didn’t look good when I picked him up from school today, Boss. I think you should check up on him.” _ Tony rubbed his temples and shifted his weight onto his other foot. 

“Did you make sure he was okay before you left?” 

_ “I never left. I’m calling you from the garage. MJ just texted me to tell me that she’s coming over. Should I stay?” _

“No, Hap, you can go home. I’ll figure this out myself. Thanks.” He hung up and dialed Pepper’s number. She picked up on the third ring. “Hey Pep,”

_ “Is everything alright?” _

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Kinda. Okay, not really. Peter came home sick from school.”

_ “Oh… can Happy go stay with him for the night?” _

“I’ve had Happy working around-the-clock for a month. Today was supposed to be his day off.”

_ “If I didn’t have shareholder meetings I would just go home early.” _

“Maybe I’ll just bring Morgan home and we’ll just end the camping trip a little early.” He eyed Morgan, chipping steel on flint to catch a flame. She was so excited for this trip. She didn’t really get to spend a ton of time with her friends, so this trip was really important to her. It was all she had been talking about for a week, and she talked  _ a lot. _

_ “No. I’m sure the other moms can handle one extra girl for a couple of hours until I can leave. You go home to be with Peter. I’ll drive up to the campsite when I get off work.” _

“Okay. Let me know when you’re headed here. Love you Pep.”

_ “Love you too.” _

Michelle rummaged through the cabinets in the kitchen, eventually digging deep enough to find a single can of chicken noodle soup. It wouldn’t normally be enough for Peter’s appetite, but it would have to do for now.

Next up, find the medicine. Halfway through the first cupboard, FRIDAY interrupted her search. “Miss Jones, Peter currently appears to be experiencing emotional distress.”

She dropped her search and went towards the bathroom. She paused at the door and knocked. “Hey Peter, everything alright in there?” He whimpered in response, and Michelle pushed the door open. “Peter,” He was sitting on the floor leaning up against the wall head in his arms to conceal his tear-streaked face. His coat was still half-on, tangled in his arms. She knelt down next to him.

“I’m s-sorry,” Peter hiccupped. 

“It’s okay. Can I help you?” He nodded. She helped him pull his coat the rest of the way off and discarded it on the floor in the corner. He shivered but she kept going and peeled off his shirt, damp with sweat and sticking to his chest. She was sure to be careful around Peter’s shoulders. Despite it having been months since Peter came home, Bruce told everybody that his shoulders were still at risk for another dislocation if they weren’t careful. 

As he undid his jeans and worked them down his legs, Michelle couldn’t help but feel a little queasy. He hardly told her anything about his time in captivity. Just bits and pieces sprinkled into casual conversations. Part of her didn’t want to know. She knew she  _ shouldn’t  _ want to know. But the other part of her felt a morbid curiosity and absolute disgust for the man who did this.

Once Peter was undressed down to his boxers, Michelle helped him into the shower and turned it on, testing the water and adjusting the temperature. Peter swayed on his feet and Michelle lowered him to the ground. “FRIDAY, how’s Peter’s fever?”

“Peter’s temperature currently reads at 102.3 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Could you please let Tony know that Peter’s not feeling well?”

“Sending notification now.”

Peter sighed. “I’m fine M,” the tremors had returned even though the water hadn’t even touched him yet. “He’s busy. I’ll be fine. Just need some sleep.”

“Peter, you’re not fine. You’re sick.” She pulled the shower head down and turned the stream to Peter. He jumped at the cold spray. 

“Sheesh M,” Peter’s teeth chattered. 

“Oh you’re fine,” she used her hand to shield his eyes as she wet his hair with the shower head. She hung the head back up and squirted shampoo into her palms to gently massage into Peter’s scalp. He leaned into her soft touch and she massaged a little longer than she probably needed to. 

She rinsed the shampoo out and Peter was once again wracked with tremors. She turned the water off and reached into the linen closet to find a bath towel. It came out of the closet warm. There must be a heating vent in there.

She towel dried his hair, massaging in gentle, circular motions that made Peter relax. She wrapped him tight in the towel and left with the promise to return quickly with clean pajamas. 

Peter heard his phone buzzing in the pocket of his jeans and he reached outside the tub to grab it. The cool air made goosebumps rise on the skin of his arm. He checked the caller ID before answering. It was Tony. 

“Hey,” Peter answered weakly.

_ “Hey kiddo. Happy and FRIDAY told me you’re not feeling great. What’s hurting?” _ There was a lot of background noise and Peter could only guess that he was in a car.

“I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry ‘bout me.” Michelle padded back into the bathroom and set his pajamas on the toilet. 

_ ‘I’ll be out there,’ _ she wandered out to the kitchen. 

_ “Well, I’m coming home anyway. What flavor of gatorade is your favorite?” _

“Light blue,” Peter pushed himself off the floor and finished drying off, leaning on the edge of the tub again to relieve some of the pressure on his legs. He pinned the phone between his shoulder and his ear and shimmied into his pajamas. He hobbled out to meet Michelle in the kitchen. 

_ “Alright. I’ll be home soon. Love you kiddo.” _

“Love you too.” He hung up. His legs ached and he leaned on the counter.

Michelle pulled a bowl of chicken-noodle soup out of the microwave. She balanced it in one hand, along with a spoon, and laced her other around Peter, and the two of them made their way over to the couch. She eased him down and helped him get his feet up on the chaise before draping a light blanket over him. He reached for the thicker one, but she stopped him. “Not good for your fever.” She handed him the bowl of soup and spoon and sat down next to him. “Try and eat that.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Peter pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. 

“At least try,” she scooted closer to him and tucked her socked feet under the blanket. “You’ll feel better when you get some food in you.”

Peter grudgingly obliged and raised the broth to his mouth with shaky hands. Michelle flicked on the TV and turned on the newest _ Mandalorian _ episode, more for background noise than anything. After three painstakingly slow spoonfuls, Peter leaned back. “I can’t,” he whimpered. 

“It’s okay,” Michelle took the bowl and set it on the ground next to the couch. “We can reheat it if you feel like having more later.”   
  
“Okay,” Peter’s voice wavered and he tried to cover it up by clearing his throat. In a word, he was miserable. He was weak. He was cold. He was in pain. So yeah. Misery. 

Michelle shrugged him under her arm and let him burrow into her side. She threaded her fingers into his hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead and let Peter fall into a fitful sleep, laced with fever dreams and cries for help that died as whimpers in his throat, never quite reaching his lips. She rubbed circles on his back until his breathing evened back out again and he calmed a little. 

A little while later, the elevator doors whirred open and Tony Stark strolled in, paper bag in-hand. Michelle looked over the couch and smiled at him, a silent greeting to not wake Peter. Tony got the message and waved. He set the bag down on the counter and came over to where the two of them were sitting. 

“Hey,” Michelle whispered and Tony sat down on the edge of the chaise and put a hand on Peter’s calf. 

“Hey,” he whispered back. “How is he?”

“Not too great,” she looked down at Peter and traced her thumb down the back of his neck. “He’s got a fever and was hardly able to eat any soup,” she looked down at the mostly full bowl on the floor. 

“Poor Pete,” Tony squeezed Peter’s calf and Peter shifted away from his touch. His eyelids fluttered open and he pressed further into Michelle’s side. “Hey kiddo,” Tony leaned closer. “How are ya feeling bud?”

“Mmm,” Peter pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “Fine.”

“Alright, you’re not fine.” Michelle felt her phone buzz in her pocket and she pulled it out. 

“I have to get going, I gotta pick up my sister from basketball practice.” She shifted out of her spot and Peter’s face squished up against the fabric of the couch. 

“Mmm. Bye M,” Peter hummed. 

As she walked around the couch, Tony followed her toward the elevator. “His,” Michelle picked up her purse off the counter and Tony grabbed an orange pill bottle out of one of the cupboards “his legs have really been hurting him today.” She kept her voice down so Peter wouldn’t hear. She knew he would deny any problem he had given the chance. “So just make sure and help him if he needs to get up or anything like that.” She thumbed the glass pendant around her neck as she spoke, a habit she didn’t try to break. 

“Has he taken any of his meds today?” Bruce had made painkillers for Peter after summer so they didn’t just have to give him a handful of ibuprofen and hope for the best. 

“I don’t think so.” She lingered and Tony filled a glass of water from the fridge. 

“It’s okay for you to go,” Tony said after a minute. “Pete’ll be fine. He knows you’ve got stuff to do.”

Michelle nodded tentatively. “He just… he won’t ask for help, so make sure he’s actually okay when he says he is.” 

“I got it MJ. It’s okay.” She nodded and took a step back. 

“Okay.” She stepped into her boots and laced them back up. She straightened back out and shrugged her coat on and zipped it up before stepping into the open elevator. “Just tell him to… call me if he needs anything. I mean, I don’t know why he would need anything with you here but--” she paused and took a deep breath. “I’m here.”

“I know, MJ. He appreciates it.” She didn’t press the down button. Tony walked closer. “Hey,” she looked up at him. “He’s safe. He’ll be fine. He’s just sick. Got it?” 

She pressed the lobby button and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Got it.” The elevator doors slid shut. 

Tony took the glass of water, light blue gatorade, and pill bottle to the couch and knelt down in front of Peter. He cupped his face with his hand, the tender gesture opening Peter’s eyes. “Hey Pete,” Tony whispered, “I brought your meds. We’re gonna get you feeling better, sound good? But first, you gotta sit up and take your medicine.” Peter’s eyebrows knit together and he shook his head. “C’mon Pete,” Tony slid up into the spot next to Peter that Michelle’s body used to fill. He helped adjust Peter so he was upright, and then shook one pill out of the bottle and handed it to Peter along with the glass of water. 

Peter swallowed the pill and washed it down with a sip of water. His stomach clenched and he locked his jaw shut to convince himself not to reject all the food in his stomach. He took another sip of water and then handed the glass back to Tony, who then set the glass on the ground next to the now-cold bowl of soup.

Tony broke the orange seal on the bottle of gatorade and offered it to Peter. Peter waved his hand and leaned back. “I… I can’t. Sorry,” he crossed his arms over his stomach. Tony retightened the cap and set it on the floor. 

“It’s okay, bud. You can have it later.” He put his arm over Peter’s shoulders and Peter didn’t move away. He didn’t lean in to Tony’s touch, but he didn’t flinch back, and Tony called that progress. 

A couple more episodes played on but Peter’s unfocused, glazed-over eyes stayed open. At the end of the episode, Peter scooted to the edge of the couch and set his feet on the ground softly. “You okay?” Tony scooted forward

“I think I’m just gonna go lay down in my room,” Peter tried to stand, but fell back to the couch when his legs screamed at him. He sucked air in through clenched teeth and tried again, Tony reaching a hand around him and pulled him up.

The two of them hobbled to Peter’s room in short, pained steps, and when Peter flopped onto his bed, tears of frustration and pain welled up in his eyes. Peter hid them well from Tony, but when one slipped down Peter’s cheek, Tony saw it before Peter had the chance to swipe it away. He set the gatorade on Peter’s nightstand and turned off the lights before kneeling by Peter’s bedside. “I’m fine, Tony. Really.” Despite his resolve, Peter’s voice wavered and betrayed him. “You can go back out with Morgan on her camping trip.”

“Pepper’s headed there now. I’m home for the night. It’s just you and me tonight bud.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure you have stuff you need to do.” Peter hated being alone and Tony knew it. While it felt wrong asking Tony to leave, it felt worse asking Tony to stay.

“Pete, you’re one of the most important parts of my life and you’re not feeling well. I’m staying.” He pulled the chair from Peter’s desk close to Peter’s bed and parked there. “Do you want me to read you a bedtime story?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Tony,” Tony reached for  _ The Amazing Spider-Man _ that was on Peter’s desk. It was Morgan’s favorite book to be read to her and she always brought it into Peter’s room for her bedtime story. Peter laughed, a breathy noise that dissolved into a coughing fit.

Tony started reading, keeping his voice low but expressive like he always did for Morgan. And as he read on, a combination of the pain meds and the soothing sound of his voice finally lulled Peter to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed by now, this work will be almost exclusively sickfics. Get ready lol.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


	2. we will overcome the apathy that has made us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna say 'happy Saturday' but then I remembered that most of us are quarantine and time isn't real.

“Ohmagosh.” Peter slurred. He held his palms up in front of his face. He squished his cheeks and flicked his lip.  _ “Tony.” _

“Yeah kiddo?” Tony held out his hands to help Peter out of the wheelchair and onto the couch.

“I’m… I’m nev’ gonna be pretty again.” He looked up at Tony, eyes fearful. “I can’t feel ma face. An’ MJ ‘s not gonna wanna see me because I can’t smile,” Peter talked around the gauze in his mouth and one of the strips fell out. Tony knelt down next to Peter and grabbed the dry end of the gauze.

“You’re still  _ very _ pretty, Pete. The prettiest. Now open up so I can put this back in.” Peter looked down at Tony’s hands and gasped. 

“Is  _ that _ my  _ tongue?” _ Peter’s jaw dropped and Tony stuck the gauze back in.

“No buddy, that’s not your tongue, you’re alright.” He grabbed the ice packs from the bag behind him and strapped them around Peter’s swollen cheeks. He remembered having his wisdom teeth removed, and Jarvis spooning soup into his mouth because he was too numb to even know where his lips were. 

Morgan padded into the room with bare feet. “Petey?” She peered around the couch in search of Peter. 

“Morgan?” Peter whipped his head around and the gauze dropped again. 

“Petey? What’s… what’s wrong with your face?” She crawled into Peter’s lap and he pressed his palms flat against his cheeks again. 

“I don’ know,” his words were barely intelligible and Tony laughed. 

“Well Little Miss,” Tony got up and tossed a blanket at the pair. “Do you wanna keep Peter company for a minute? I’ll be right back.” Morgan tucked the blanket around the two of them and ordered FRIDAY to turn on an Avengers cartoon on Disney+. __

Tony wandered into the kitchen and filled a glass of water, grabbing Peter’s meds on the way back out to the living room.

“My favorite Avenger is Black Widow,” Tony set the glass of water down on the coffee table and acted offended. Those words had just come out of his baby girl’s mouth. 

“How  _ could _ you?” Tony gripped at his chest and fell backwards onto the couch. “That hurt, Morguna.” She giggled.

“Yeah, well,” Peter slurred his words. “My favorite Avenger is Spider-Man.” He flashed a droopy grin and a trail of drool dribbled down his chin. The trail ended when it hit the ice packs strapped under Peter’s chin. 

“Pete,” Tony tucked Peter and Morgan under his arm and leaned back on the couch with them. “You  _ are  _ Spider-Man.” Upon hearing this, Peter thrust forward to make eye contact with Tony. 

“I’m  _ what?” _ Peter all but spit the gauze out of his mouth.

Tony laughed. “You’re Spider-Man, bud.”

“I… I gotta go out. I--” he tried to get up from the couch, but Tony blocked him. 

“Where ya going Spidey?”

“I gotta go out… on patrol.” He struggled to untangle himself from the blankets. “The people need me. I gotta go… portect ‘em.” He tripped up over the edge of the couch and went sprawling across the floor.

Tony sprung to Peter’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. “Pete, you alright?”

“Ow,” Peter answered. More drool, tinged red with blood, trailed down his chin and Peter wiped it with the back of his hand. When he saw it, he gasped. “Tony, I’m  _ bleeding.” _

“Yes you are,” Tony helped Peter back up to his spot on the couch. He grabbed a paper towel and gently wiped away the rest of the spit, and replaced the strips of gauze hanging in Peter’s mouth. By the time Peter leaned back again, he was exhausted, and Morgan was dozing off on the couch already. Tony was glad he scheduled the appointment in the afternoon. That way, Peter could hopefully sleep off the drugs and heal overnight. 

Tony read the room and got up to carry Morgan to her room and tuck her into bed. He draped the blankets over her sleeping form and was amazed at her ability to sleep through most things. 

When he got back to the living room, Peter looked lost sitting up on the couch. The blanket was pulled up over his shoulders and he seemed like he was really trying to get up but couldn’t quite make his body follow the instructions coming from his brain.

“Wanna go to bed, Pete? Or do you wanna just park on the couch for the night?” Peter leaned back into the cushions, the action speaking for itself. “How are you feeling?” Tony reclined on the couch and pulled Peter’s meds out of his pocket

“Jus’ a lil’ sore,” Peter took the gauze out of his mouth and wrapped the strips in a paper towel to set on the coffee table. The bleeding had stopped, and his mouth was dry.

“Why don’t you take one of these,” Tony popped the cap off the bottle and shook a pill into his hand. He handed it to Peter, along with his glass of water. Bruce had prescribed these new pills for Peter to be a little weaker than the meds he took for his chronic pain. He shouldn’t need as much pain relieving power for a simple wisdom tooth extraction.

Bruce did give Tony a warning, however, when Peter was wheeled out of the operating room. That these new drugs contained a hallucinogen. But, he reassured Tony, Peter’s metabolism should be enough so that he doesn’t experience any significant hallucinations. In this situation, because of the lack of research on Peter’s metabolism, ‘should’ was the operative word. 

Peter tossed the pill to the back of his throat and tried to swallow some water to wash it down, but most of the water dribbled down his chin into the ice packs strapped to his face and down onto his shirt. Tony dried the water stains with a paper towel and tucked the blanket tighter around Peter’s shoulders. His eyelids drooped and Tony tucked the boy under his arm.

“If you wake up during the night, wake me up too, okay?” Peter hummed in acknowledgement and nodded against Tony’s chest. After a few moments, Peter’s breaths deepened and his body drooped in sleep, warm and comfortable against Tony’s. 

Tony tried to stay awake in case Peter needed him. He really tried. But the combination of Peter’s warmth and the inherent exhaustion that comes with age and being the father of a five-year-old made sleep pull him under not long after Peter succumbed. 

  
  
  


Peter woke up in a cold sweat, the fading memory of a bad dream fresh on his lips but eluding his mind. Something was… off. He looked up at Tony and his breath hitched in his throat. 

Peter’s shoulders burned where Tony’s arm had contact and Peter ripped himself away. He stumbled backward off the couch, knocking into the coffee table in haste. There was only one thought on his mind. 

_ He’s here. _

  
  
  


Tony woke up to a loud noise that echoed through the room. He jumped and saw Peter cowering away from him, the water glass now shattered on the floor. “Pete,” Tony sprung off the couch to get closer to Peter, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “You okay?”

Peter backed himself into a corner, bumping into furniture and dragging glass shards from his now-shattered water glass across the floor. His heart pounded in his chest and Tony approached him “N...no. Please, no,” broken pleas forced their way out of Peter’s throat and Tony stopped in his tracks, the weight of Peter’s reaction preventing him from touching his foot down in another step.

He held his hands in front of himself and lowered himself to the ground. “Pete,” his voice was a quiet whisper that Tony wasn’t sure could be heard over Peter’s heavy breathing. He hadn’t had a reaction like this since the first couple of weeks and Tony knew it was the medication. “It’s me.”

Peter shook his head. He wouldn’t be tricked again. 

Tony inched closer and Peter couldn’t stop a whine from escaping from his throat. “FRIDAY, lights ten percent and brighten to thirty.” The room lit up and Tony could see the damage done a little better. The glass had shredded Peter’s palms and the soles of his feet, leaving the hardwood floors smeared with Peter’s blood.

“It’s me, Pete. You’re safe, I promise.”

Peter’s eyes were wide and he shrank further into himself, the tremors that had left him for weeks now returning. “Please, no,”

“Pete,” he tried to remain calm but if he didn’t pluck the glass shards from Peter’s skin soon, he would begin to heal with the pieces still in his skin, and it would make removing them that much more painful. “Take a breath.”

Peter sucked air into his lungs, but his breath caught in his throat and made his breathing even more frantic. He was obviously rounding the corner on a full-blown panic attack. His hands wandered up to his face and his hair. He tugged at his hair and pulled the ice pack off, staining his face with blood, too. “Buddy, you need to  _ breathe.  _ Come on, follow me.” Tony took loud exaggerated breaths and Peter began to follow. 

“You’re in control, Pete. You’re in complete control. You are safe, you are loved. I love you and,” Peter’s breath came closer and closer to normalcy with every word out of Tony’s mouth. “And I really admire you, kiddo. You are, without a doubt, the strongest person I know.” Some of the tension in Peter’s shoulders released upon hearing the last words and Tony took it as a good sign. 

“Pete, can I come a little closer?” Peter hesitated before giving a small nod. Tony inched closer, pausing when Peter tensed and continuing when he relaxed again. He crawled around the broken glass and Peter watched warily. 

Tony reached slowly for Peter’s ankle and Peter let him take it. He examined the damage and lowered Peter’s foot to the floor again. “Okay bud, I’m going to go grab a couple things. You stay right here, alright? Just until I can clean up the rest of the glass, okay?” Peter’s head dipped slightly and Tony carefully walked around the glass to grab the things he hoped would fix the situation. He was a fixer, he couldn’t help that. 

When he had everything he needed, he walked back into the living room with Peter and sat back down next to him. Tony couldn’t help but notice that Peter looked more uncomfortable than he had in months. His heart broke. They’d made so much progress, and Tony would hate for it to be wiped away from a hallucinogen. 

Tony draped Peter’s blanket over his shoulders.

Peter let him take his foot again but never let his guard down. Tony made quick work about plucking the glass from the soles of Peter’s feet, squinting his eyes to see the minuscule shards in the dim light. When the first foot was glass-free, he moved on to the next one, and then his hands. 

When the last shard of glass was removed from Peter’s skin, Tony wiped at the dried blood caked around the already-healing cuts. Peter winced at the occasional shard that was deeper than the rest. 

Tony turned his attention to Peter’s face and grabbed the damp washcloth he had brought and carefully scrubbed the skin clear of blood. Peter never took his eyes off of what Tony was going. 

Tony carded his fingers through Peter’s hair and Peter didn’t flinch back. “Can I help you up?” Peter nodded again and Tony slipped his arm around Peter’s waist and hoisted him up, trying to keep as much pressure off Peter’s shredded feet. On the couch, Tony strapped a fresh ice pack around his swollen cheeks and padded him with pillows and blankets. 

Tony tried his best to make Peter feel comfortable, but he knew that probably wouldn’t happen with the drugs still in Peter’s system. He could only hope to wait for Peter’s metabolism to burn through them and return Peter’s progress to them. “FRIDAY, turn on background noise and ambient lighting at ten percent.” After that summer, Peter hated the dark and silence. And in the time when Peter was still learning about how to trust again, Tony coded some programs into his AIs to help in whatever situation Peter might be in. 

Peter sat on the couch, never relaxing and never taking his eyes off Tony. He knew that Tony wasn’t Him. He knew it. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was. So he chose not to relax. Not to let his guard down. It’s better to be safe than sorry, and Peter would not let himself be sorry again. Never again. 

And so Peter watched Tony clean the rest of his mess up, sweeping the floor and mopping up the traces of dried blood until the exhaustion pulled him back into sleep’s grip. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Do you guys have any funny wisdom teeth stories? Drop a comment if you do, or if you have anything else to say. I love interacting with you guys:) I love you all!


	3. our fear has betrayed us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week was poop and I can't seem to do anything right but IT'S OKAY because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.
> 
> Also, I did not realize how many of my normal readers are not logged into ao3! I just found out about the thing that ao3 is doing to keep from crashing with the uptick in users during covid-19, where they're not counting the hits from logged-out users toward the total hit-count of the fic. I just thought my last fic or two just completely flopped lol. But yeah, if you've been holding off on making an ao3 account for some reason, now is DEFINITELY the time to do it.

He woke up with a sore throat. 

Well, sore was kind of an understatement.

It hurt to swallow or breathe or talk or do pretty much anything.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t the first sore throat Peter had had in literally five years. 

He rolled out of bed and cleared his throat, noticing the strange noise it made, like it was only half-there. Sighing, he pushed himself out of bed and got dressed, heading down the hallway to brush his teeth and grab a quick breakfast on his way out the door for school. His head pounded as he brushed his teeth and he closed his eyes, enjoying the relief from the bathroom lights that pierced his retinas. 

He dragged himself out to the kitchen and found Tony already up and making scrambled eggs, coffee mug in-hand and a grey dish towel thrown over his shoulder. “Morning Pete,” Peter pulled out a barstool from the counter and slumped his shoulders. “How’d you sleep?” He shrugged. “I made some eggs for you,” Tony scooped them out of the pan onto a plate and handed it to Peter, who accepted them with a tight smile. “You okay, bud?”

Peter gave a thumbs-up and shoved some eggs in his mouth. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized that he wasn’t really hungry. That was weird. He forced himself to swallow the rest of the eggs on the plate and set it in the sink. “Thanks--” his voice surprised him. It was way worse than he imagined it would be. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Thanks for breakfast, Tony.” It didn’t help.

“Pete, do you feel alright?” Tony set the dish towel on the counter and reached his hand out to feel Peter’s forehead. 

“I feel fine,” Peter lied. It felt like his voice was getting worse with every word he spoke, becoming hoarser and hoarser by the minute. Tony hummed. 

“You sure don’t look like you feel alright.” His hand lingered on Peter’s forehead longer than it needed to. “FRI, what’s Pete’s temperature?”

“Peter’s temperature is currently 100.9 degrees Fahrenheit: a low-grade fever.” FRIDAY replied.

“Thanks FRI.” Tony’s hand slid down to Peter’s shoulder and led him back to the barstool he was sitting on. 

“Really Tony, I feel fine.” Peter insisted. 

“Well you don’t look it.” His eyebrows furrowed and he massaged Peter’s shoulder. “You’re staying home today, kiddo.”

“But I’ve got… stuff to do today.” Words were knives tearing his throat apart. “I have a group presentation today and I was the one who did all the work. I’ve gotta be there.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re going to be doing much presenting even if you did go to school,” Peter sighed. “I’m going to go call the school, I’ll be right back, okay?” Peter nodded and rested his head on the countertop, letting the cool granite clear his head for a moment. 

  
  
  


“Peter’s sick again,” Tony paced the hallway again, rubbing his temples. He’d already called Peter’s school and excused him for the day. “He never used to get sick. Not before--"

_ “I wouldn’t worry, Tony,” _ Bruce said.  _ “It’s known that PTSD causes the immune system to weaken, and it  _ is _ sick season, after all. Just make sure he drinks lots of fluids and give him ibuprofen if his fever gets over 101.” _

“I just… I just feel bad. Kid shouldn’t have a weakened immune system from PTSD, kid shouldn’t have PTSD in the first place. It’s just--” Tony took a shuddering breath. “I wish things were different.”

_ “I know. But this is how things are. You can’t change the past. Well, we kind of did, but this is different. Peter will be fine. He’s healing. Right now, he just needs you to be there for him. Be patient and wait for his progress. Someday, you two will look back on this time from a point in time where life is better, where life seems hopeful. You just have to wait to get there.” _

Tony sighed, trying to release some of the pressure that had been building in his chest and nodded, straightening back out. “Alright. Thanks, Bruce.”

_ “No problem, Tony. Call me if anything comes up.” _ Tony hung up. He walked back out to the kitchen to find Peter slumped over the counter, cheek pressed up against the stone, eyes closed. He set a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and he jumped back. Tony chastised himself. He knew that Peter still flinches when he’s not expecting contact. He knew that. 

“Hey kiddo, why don’t you go get your PJs on? Then meet me back on the couch, sound good?” Peter nodded and dragged his feet to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. 

All alone once again, the voices of disappointment took over Tony’s thoughts. Peter didn’t deserve this. He deserved better. He deserved the world. Maybe if Tony would try harder, maybe if Tony was a better person, maybe then Peter would be farther along in his recovery. A thousand “maybe if Tony”s forced their way through his brain and he did nothing to force them back out.

The attention was broken when Peter’s door opened back out and his bare feet padded out to the couch. Tony grabbed a bottle of water and set the teapot to boil. When it whistled, he poured it into Peter’s favorite mug, one of the special heat-changing mugs that was black to begin with, but when heated up, the black disappeared to reveal a selfie he and Morgan had taken on Tony’s phone one day while he was busy in the workshop.

While the herbal peach tea bag was steeping, he stirred in the copious amount of honey that Peter always insisted on having in his tea, claiming that the honey was the best part. Tony couldn’t imagine what it would taste like. He’d always been a black-coffee-no-sugar-in-his-tea man, never one to have a sweet tooth. But he would put his aversion to sweet things aside for Peter. He would do anything for Peter. 

Once it was finished steeping, Tony dropped the tea bag in the trashcan and carried the mug and water bottle carefully out to Peter on the couch, who accepted the tea graciously, not sipping it at first, just wrapping his hands around the mug and bringing his knees up to his chest, seemingly wrapping his whole body around the mug to leech it of its warmth. 

“Drink it all, okay? And when you’re finished with that, I have water for you. The best thing for you right now is drinking lots of fluids. And don’t talk.” Tony sat down on the couch, a cushion away from Peter. “Gotta save your voice.” He’d been trying to give Peter some space recently, trying to let him recover and grow without being immediately smothered by Tony’s support, even if staying further away killed Tony more and more every moment. “I hope you’re ready,” Peter turned to Tony. “We have a whole other season of  _ Brooklyn 99 _ to watch today.” Peter gave a small smile and nodded, finally deciding the tea was cool enough to sip. “FRI, turn on  _ Brooklyn _ .”

“Will do,” she responded, turning the screen on to the last episode they’d watched together. Tony tossed Peter a light throw blanket when he finished his tea, and Peter curled up with his water bottle.

As the episodes played on and more time passed, Tony realized something, not for the first time. In the end, this was how the two of them always seemed to end up. 

Two separate entities whose paths should have never crossed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Kudos/comments make my gremlin self so happy, if you'd like to leave them:)


	4. oh my heart, how can I face you now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I hope everyone had a good week. Enjoy this new update!
> 
> TW: accidental drug abuse (is that a thing?)

Peter took a swig from his water bottle and cleared his throat. The bus was cold, and he folded his arms tightly across his chest to keep from shivering. The city lights were blurred through the fogged-up window, and Peter leaned his head back on the cool seat behind him. Ned snored softly and the bus was void of the normal pre-competition chatter, and instead filled with exhausted teens trying to catch a bit of shuteye before their competition in a couple of hours. 

Admin had decided that the team didn’t need to get a hotel for the night, and instead they could leave super early in the morning to get to the competition on time. Yes, it saved money, but Peter wondered if the lack of sleep would affect how they did in the competition.

The town that the competition was being held in was still a couple hours away, and Peter closed his eyes, but didn’t try to sleep. He wanted to. He wished he could. But it wasn’t an option.

Even if sleep did find him, horrible nightmares seemed to plague him every time he closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to wake up thrashing, fighting against an invisible enemy, drenched in tears and sweat, all in front of his classmates.

So it was probably better that he stayed awake. Besides, if he did fall asleep, he would probably snore embarrassingly loud. His sinuses felt so full they might explode and his head ached from the pressure.

So he waited. And waited. And waited some more. Turned up the music in his earbuds. Checked the time. Waited. Checked the time again. It had only been thirty-four minutes. 

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He pulled out his phone. A missed text from Tony waited for him.

**Tony:** Good luck at AcaDec today! You’re gonna kill it. I’ll be watching from the crowd.

Despite Peter’s best efforts of ‘it’s okay, you really don’t need to come.’, Tony was relentless. 

Peter’s head pounded more and more every moment, and he leaned forward to rest his head on the seat in front of him. He bumped into Ned and he stirred.

“Peter? You okay?” Ned yawned.

“Yeah, man. Just tired. You can go back to sleep.”

“You sure? You don’t sound so good. Or look so good.”

“Jus’ have a cold, I think.” Peter pressed his forehead harder into the seatback.

“Next time we stop, you should grab some DayQuil or something,” Ned resumed his sleeping position. “Then you can feel better for the comp,” Peter hummed in acknowledgment. 

Another thirty minutes passed, and maybe Peter dozed off for a few of them. He startled back into awareness when the bus turned into a lone gas station on the highway. Mister Harrington stood up in the front of the bus. “If anyone has to use the bathroom or grab a snack, this is your chance.” The bus came to a stop and he clung to a seat to keep his balance. “We’re not stopping again until we get to the school, so do with that information what you will.”

A few of the students on the bus stood up, nudging their seatmates to wake up if they were sleeping. Peter scooted past Ned and him and four or five other bleary-eyed students stumbled off the bus and into the gas station, some heading to the bathrooms and others beelining straight for the snack aisle. 

Peter wandered over to the medicine section, in search of DayQuil. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he knelt down to look into the shelves. But to his dismay, all of the Dayquil was gone. All that was left was one solitary bottle of NyQuil. The opposite of what Peter needed. 

He sighed and rubbed his sinuses under his eyes. His gaze wandered across the store to another display. 5-Hour Energy.

Deep down, Peter  _ knew _ it was a bad idea. A horrible idea, really. But he didn’t want to think about that.

He grabbed the bottle of NyQuil and snagged a 5-Hour Energy on his way by the display, setting them both up on the counter to pay for them. The cashier took his money without another glance and, soon enough, Peter was back in his spot next to Ned on the bus. 

He waited until the bus was back moving again to pull out the bottle of NyQuil. Technically, the students weren’t supposed to have their own medication with them. For safety reasons and all that. But Peter was responsible. He wasn’t going to OD on cold medicine. Besides, the chaperones wouldn’t know about his enhanced metabolism, and he would just get a normal dose. That wouldn’t do.

He looked down at the bottle. Ten ounces. One dose was thirty milliliters. One ounce.

For other medications, he usually took three times the recommended dose to account for his metabolism. He tore off the plastic packaging and downed three capfuls of the disgusting blue syrup and zipped the bottle back in his bag, washing it down with water.    


He eyed the energy drink but decided against it. Maybe his metabolism would completely counteract the sleep medication in the NyQuil and he wouldn’t get drowsy at all. Even if he did start feeling tired, he decided he was going to fight off the sleep for as long as possible, and then drink the energy drink. Better to have fresh energy for the competition than to be wired while stuck on a bus. 

The last hour-and-a-half passed quickly, and Peter wasn’t sure whether it was because he kept nodding off for a couple minutes at a time and jerking himself awake, or because the sun had started to rise and the bus had started to warm up a little bit more. By the time the bus was pulling into the school parking lot, the other students had started to wake up and stretch, dragging their fingers through their hair in an effort to make themselves look presentable. 

Their event started in two hours, according to Mister Harrington. So they had two hours to roam the school if they wanted to, use the bathrooms, get a snack from the vending machines, but if they weren’t lined up at the gym ready to go by the time that they were walking on stage, they would lose their spot on the AcaDec team and it would be filled by someone who wanted to be there more. 

Peter yawned and followed Ned off the bus, limbs heavy. Despite his exhaustion, Peter didn’t feel any better. If anything, the exhaustion made him feel worse. Most of the students streamed into the bathrooms to freshen up, and Peter followed suit, locking himself in a stall and unzipping his backpack with slow hands. He looked at the directions on the back of the NyQuil bottle and tried to remember how long ago he’d taken his last dose. Taking inventory of himself, he decided to throw caution to the wind. 

He knew that drinking NyQuil straight from the bottle was a bad idea. But in that moment, he didn’t care. His nose was stuffed and his sinuses were blocked and his head ached and this throat hurt. So he did it anyway. 

His stomach clenched to reject the revolting liquid, but he forced himself to keep it down. He needed it. 

He stuffed the empty bottle in the bottom of his bag and shuffled out of the stall to wash his hands. He splashed some of the water on his face and looked up at himself in the mirror, water dripping from his nose. He grabbed a couple paper towels, and dried his hands and his face.

Walking out of the bathroom, he found Michelle filling her water bottle at the water fountain.

“Hey, M,” he slurred. It was definitely time for the 5-Hour Energy.

“Hey Peter,” she capped her bottle and hugged it to her chest like she did when she was nervous. 

He pulled her in closer to him and she rested her head on his shoulder. “We’re gonna do great today. You don’ need to worry.” She pulled away and looked up at him.

“You feeling okay? You don’t sound great.” Her hand reached back to massage the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes and sighed, but before he could answer, Mister Harrington shouted Michelle’s name from across the hallway, beckoning for her to join him and another kid with a clipboard in-hand. 

“Just a minute,” she called back.

“I’m okay, M. I promise. You go see what they need.” Peter tried to muster a smile, but his vision was blurring and the fatigue probably made the smile look more like a grimace. It sure felt like a grimace, at least. 

“Are you sure?” Michelle’s forehead was creased in concern and Peter felt seen in her gaze. He nodded.

“I’m okay. You go be awesome.”

“Okay,” she said, leaning in to give Peter a peck on the cheek, and then turning on her heel to meet Mister Harrington outside the gym. 

Peter stumbled across the hall to a bench. His legs felt like Jell-O and he knew that he would be on the ground soon if he didn’t sit.

He leaned back against the wall and pulled the small bottle of 5-Hour Energy out of his backpack. His hands felt so numb that he could hardly uncap the bottle. But, somehow, he managed to unscrew the lid and chug the pink-lemonade-flavored liquid. He finished it up and prayed that the energy would kick in soon. 

Peter tossed the empty bottle back into his backpack and pulled out his phone. Another text from Tony was waiting for him.

**Tony:** We’re here and have great seats! Time to crush it, Underoos.

Attached was a selfie of him and Morgan sitting in the hard metal seats set up in rows on the gym floor. Even though he said that he didn’t want Tony to come, he really did. 

Ned met Peter out on the bench. “Ready, Peter?’

Peter nodded. “Yep.” He pushed himself up off the bench, already starting to feel the energy boost. He didn’t feel great, but he didn’t feel like death anymore, so he counted it as a win. Maybe combining NyQuil and 5-Hour Energy  _ wasn’t  _ a horrible idea, after all. 

  
  
  


No, it was a horrible idea. 

Peter realized this as he was sitting in his seat at the long table with his other teammates. His leg bounced uncontrollably under the table and the lights in the gym were blinding. He was focused and unfocused at the same time, the boundless energy inside of every fiber of his being begging him to run laps around the gym to release the pressure. 

He just hoped that he would be able to answer the questions.

  
  
  


The rest of the competition passed in an indiscernible blur, and the next thing Peter knew, it was over and he was walking through the crowd of proud parents to try and find Tony and Morgan. Midtown won and people he’s never met before congratulate him as he passes. His eyes grazed over the faces in the crowd, not really making an effort to recognize anyone in particular. Peter felt disconnected-- as if he were watching himself walk through the crowd from somewhere above. Every time somebody’s shoulder brushed against him or stepped in his path, he felt his anxiety spike and wished that he could go hide in a dark, quiet room.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he whipped around, stumbling backwards. Tony caught him before he could run into an older woman taking a picture with one of the students on the other team. “Hey, kiddo,” Tony pulled Peter into a hug that he didn’t fully reciprocate. “I’m so proud of you.” Morgan grabbed Peter’s hand that was hanging slack by his side. 

Peter mumbled something along the lines of a ‘thank you’, but his eyes searched the room for a way out. There were too many people in the room, too much light, too much noise. His pounding headache had returned and Peter wanted out. “Do you want to ride home with me and the little miss, or with your friends? There might be an icecream run on the way home if you come with us,” Tony smiled and rubbed Peter’s shoulders. His eyes were concerned, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to reassure him.

“I’ll go with you.” Tony sensed the reason for Peter’s brevity and led him and Morgan toward the doors, letting Mister Harrington know that Peter was leaving with him on their way out. 

They walked back to the car in silence, but Peter’s mind was anything but silent. Well, kind of. The only way Peter could think to describe how his mind felt was the sound that the radio makes when you’re tuned into a station that isn’t a station. Or when one of your limbs falls asleep, that pins-and-needles sensation that takes over.

That’s what it was like in Peter’s mind at that moment. 

He doesn’t remember the car ride home, just stuffing his jacket into his bag and falling asleep in the front seat as Tony and Morgan listened to the Led Zeppelin station on the radio.

  
  
  


“--ete, come on bud, it’s time to wake up.” Tony’s voice roused Peter from sleep, and Peter found Tony kneeling next to him, urging him to get out of the car. Peter unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his backpack and dragged himself to follow Tony and Morgan up the elevator to the penthouse. 

Peter yawned. He was starting to feel more normal. Hopefully he would be able to sleep the rest of the NyQuil off and feel fine in the morning.

When they got up to the penthouse, Pepper met the three of them in the living room. “How’d it go?” She pulled Peter in for a hug.

“Midtown won!” Tony exclaimed and kissed the top of Pepper’s head. 

“You did? That’s awesome Peter!” Peter smiled weakly. His eyelids were heavy and he found it hard to think about anything but falling asleep again. “We’re so proud of you, Peter. You’re incredible.”

“Thanks, Pepper.” He covered his mouth to suppress a yawn. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay. I’ve got a little cold, so I’m gonna try to sleep it off.”

“Oh, hope you feel better, baby!” Pepper pecked a kiss on Peter’s forehead. 

Peter collapsed into his bed the moment he walked into his bedroom. Tony’s footsteps followed him in. He knocked on the doorframe.

“Hey Pete,” Peter sat up and rubbed his eyes. He tossed his backpack across the room and kicked off his shoes. Tony handed Peter a glass of water. “Drink this.”

Peter sipped at the water in the glass, nose too stuffy to chug it if he wanted to. “You okay today? I know you’re not feeling well, is that everything? Did something happen before the competition?”

Peter decided it was maybe not a good idea to tell Tony about the terrible decision he made that day, so he lied. “I’m just really tired.”

Tony’s hand ruffled through Peter’s hair and came to rest on his shoulder as he continued to work on drinking the glass of water Tony brought in for him. “Alright kiddo. Holler if you need anything tonight.” Tony got up and started to leave but paused. “Hey, where’s your decathlon jacket? I can wash it for you tonight,”

“That would be great,” Peter set the glass of water down on his nightstand. “It’s, uh, it’s over in my backpack over there.” Peter sniffed. Tony unzipped the backpack and grabbed the balled-up jacket, pulling it out along with something else. An empty NyQuil bottle.

Tony picked up the bottle that had fallen on the floor and peered into the backpack. “What’s--”   
  
“Tony, it’s fine. I--” Tony set the jacket on Peter’s desk and came back to sit on the edge of Peter’s bed. His face was set in a grim expression and Peter felt shame burning his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I’m fine, Tony.”   
  
“What are these, Pete?” Tony set the empty bottles down on the bed between them. “Did you have both of these today?”

“Well,” Peter wrung his hands. “You know, normal amounts of medicines don’t really… work on me, right? So… I might have taken the… well, the whole bottle in the span of a few hours?”

_ “Peter,” _

“And, y’know, I didn't want to be falling asleep, because I had the decathlon competition, and all the gas station had was NyQuil, not DayQuil, so I… kind of drank the 5-Hour Energy so I wouldn’t fall asleep on stage.” Tony’s head drooped to his hands and he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“So… what I’m hearing is that you drank these at the same time?” Peter bit his lip and nodded. “You mixed cold medicine-- a whole bottle of cold medicine with an energy drink?” Peter pulled his knees up to his chest and folded his arms over them.

“Yeah?”

“Peter, that was… that was an extraordinarily bad idea. Like--” he sighed and his mouth remained open, searching for words. “I can’t even describe to you--” His hand reached up to rest on Peter’s forehead. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Tony. I’m sorry.” Peter’s voice scratched, barely above a whisper. 

“Peter, you could have died today. Do you know that?” Peter’s head dipped. “That was  _ extremely  _ dangerous.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, head pounding and eyes filling with tears he didn’t want to spill.

“How do you feel now?” Tony scooted closer to the teenager, moving the bottles out of the way so he could sit next to him.

“I’m just tired now. Head hurts.” Tony put his arm around Peter’s shoulders and tipped him to lean into his side. 

“FRI? Is the kid alright?” Peter’s cheeks burned hotter with the realization of  _ ‘he doesn’t trust me anymore.’ _

“Peter is in no immediate danger at the moment,” the AI answered. “But he does seem to be experiencing symptoms of the common cold as well as emotional distress.” Peter could almost hear sympathy in her voice. 

Tony sighed and let the silence in the room take the place of words for a moment.

“Pete?” Tony pulled Peter closer. He hated how tense he was. “I love you. But that was dangerous. Next time,  _ tell me _ if you don’t feel good. We can figure something out for you. You don’t have to OD on a cold-medicine-energy-drink cocktail.”

Peter nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, bud. Just… I need you to know that I’m here for whatever you need. It doesn’t seem to me like you know that.” Peter was silent. “For some reason, it seems like you don’t want to let anyone in.” A tear slipped from Peter’s eye and he let it go. “But you have so many people around you who love you and want to help, if you would just let us in. Tell us when you’re struggling.”

Peter sniffed. Crying and having a cold didn’t mix well. “It’s just that… I don’t want… never mind.”

“What is it bud?”

“I… I don’t want to be a burden.” Peter admitted, voice thick and impossibly small. 

“Pete.” Tony said. “You are never, have never, and will never be a burden.  _ Ever. _ Do you understand? I love you. I love you so much. You’re my--” he paused “you’re my kid, Pete. You’re my kid and I would do anything in the world for you. I went back in time to get _ you _ back. Yeah, it’s a nice thought to think that I did it for the whole world, so everyone could come back, but the reality is, I did it to get you back.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t know--”

“I know.” Tony rested his chin on the top of Peter’s head. “Just promise you’ll tell me next time you need help.” Peter nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major props to the kid on reddit who tried mixing cold meds and 5-hour energy to tell the Internet about his experience. Also, if it wasn't clear enough, DO NOT MIX COLD MEDS AND ENERGY DRINKS. Also, DON'T TAKE MORE THAN THE RECOMMENDED DOSE OF ANY MEDICATION. It's EXTREMELY BAD FOR YOU.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I would love to hear what you all thought!
> 
> I'm on tumblr! Come say hi @wh0doyouthinkyouareiam!


	5. nothing is a waste (if you learn from it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I can write better than this please don't leave me

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Pete?” Peter’s hair flopped over into his eyes as he bent over to tie the laces on his skates. 

“I’ll be fine, Tony.” He felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up and pushed the hair out of his eyes. 

“I’m just worried about you, bud. You don’t want to overdo it with the legs.” Peter sighed and leaned back against the wall behind him. Tony sipped coffee out of his favorite mug. It was the picture of normalcy that Peter had been craving for so long. Who knew that it would take spending Christmas break at the lake house to get it. 

“Oh, come on. I’ve been doing great at physical therapy and Doctor Banner says it’s fine for me to start doing--” he gestured with his hands, “normal things again. I won’t be out too long and I’ll come in if I start not feeling well.” This seemed to satisfy Tony because he sighed and leaned back. 

“You promise?”

“I promise.” Tony handed him his gloves and he shoved his already-trembling fingers in, though it wasn’t even that cold. In fact, it was warmer than it had been in a long time. Morgan had been begging him to go ice-skating with him on the frozen pond outside the cabin for weeks, and Peter finally decided that today was the day. After months and months of building up not only the physical strength he needed to do normal, everyday things, but also the mental and emotional strength, he was finally ready. 

It was a big step, really. Something that Morgan had been chattering about doing with him for months. So he could do it. If not for himself, for Morgan.

Morgan glided up to where the two of them were sitting on a bench near the edge of the pond. “Ready Petey?” She held out her hand. 

Peter pushed himself up off the bench and took small steps out onto the ice. “I’m ready.” He took her hand and struggled to keep his feet underneath him, blades of his skates slipping on the ice. 

“Daddy, can you go make us some hot chocolate for us?” Morgan asked, brown eyes shining, evident that she knew that she had Tony wrapped around her little finger. 

“Hot chocolate? For you two?” Tony asked. “I think I can whip something up. I’ll be right back.” He winked at the two of them before heading back into the cabin. 

  
  
  


Tony poured the milk into the steamer and sprinkled the powder over top of it before capping it and turning it on to mix and heat the hot chocolate. Peter had made up this homemade hot chocolate mix the other night and Morgan loved it, asking for it night and day. 

Peter still didn’t sleep much, even now, even here at the cabin where he was most comfortable. Tony figured out that Peter was most relaxed while out in nature, or at least away from the city. Gave him space to unwind, to relax. To breathe. 

Tony poured the steaming liquid into two mugs and looked out the window on his two kids, ice skating on the pond. He felt Pepper’s soft touch encircle him and he leaned in. It was the picture of perfect domesticity that he knew he never deserved.

“Hey Pep,” Tony whispered. 

“Hey,” she murmured back. “So they’re finally out skating, huh?”

“Finally.”

“Is Peter ready?”

“He said he was. I made him promise to come in if he starts not feeling well, so he should be fine. He’s also got, you know, spider DNA, so that helps.” 

Pepper scoffed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of them stood there for a while, just watching. And then, in an almost-imperceptible blink-of-an-eye instant, Peter tripped, coming down on his knee, hard. 

  
  
  


Sometimes, Peter’s knee would give him trouble. Most of the time, it just ached, sometimes spasming if it was cold outside. And, if anything was consistent in New York, it was the cold winters and humid summers. One moment, Peter was finally getting the hang of the whole ‘step and glide’ thing Morgan was trying to teach him, the next his knee locking up until he trips and falls with a loud _crack._

He doesn’t have to look down to know he’s in trouble.

“Petey!” Morgan’s voice cut through Peter’s pain and he whiped his head up to see her rushing to get to him from across the pond. 

“No!” It came out harsher than he had anticipated and Morgan skidded to a stop, eyes wide.

“Petey?” Her voice was smaller now, quieter. He followed her gaze down to where his knee had come into contact with the ice. 

“Morgan? Can you go grab Mom and Dad for me?” He tried to keep his voice calm, taking measured breaths to try and offset the panic beginning to constrict his chest. “Can you show me how fast you can get them? I’ll time you.” She nodded and hesitated, as if she didn’t know if she should leave him, but ultimately sped off the ice and started running up to the cabin. 

With Morgan gone, Peter let his facade fall. His breaths came in sharp, short bursts, the cold air burning his lungs as he tried not to move, hoping, _praying_ the ice wouldn’t crack more. 

He lost track of the seconds before he heard hurried footsteps crunching through the snow and someone calling his name. He craned his neck to look over to shore, careful not to disturb the distribution of his weight on the ice. 

Sweet relief flooded his veins when he saw that it was Tony.

“Pete!” Tony’s voice cracked as he skidded to a stop at the edge of the pond. “Pete-- don’t freak out.”

Peter’s mouth opened and he tried to force a response, but nothing came out. 

“Hey-- hey,” Tony knelt down tentatively, eye-level with Peter. “Breathe.” Peter gave a small, almost imperceptible nod that was too fast, too jerky. The ice shifted underneath him and icy water began to soak through the denim of his jeans.

“T-Tony--” Peter’s breath caught in his throat.

“It’s gonna be okay, bud. Can you try and crawl to me?”

Peter nodded again and slid his hand across the ice to move to shore.

  
  
  


Even from where Tony was crouching on the ground, he could see Peter was shaking. “You got this, bud.” Peter inched across the ice and Tony’s chest ached from the breath he was holding. “That’s it, Pete. Nice and easy,” Tony breathed out. Pepper stood behind him with a coiled garden hose. 

The closer Peter got to shore, the more hurried and panicked his movements became. “Easy, kid.” Tony’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat, becoming tenser and tenser with every move Peter made. 

Tony knew that they kids shouldn’t be out on the pond. New York was nearing the end of pond-freezing weather, and it was warmer today than it had been all week. He knew it was a bad idea. But Morgan had been begging Peter to go skating with her for _months_ and _who was he to take that away from her_?

Caught up in introspect, what happened next didn’t quite register with Tony. 

Maybe Peter shifted too quickly, maybe he reached a thinner part in the ice, Tony didn’t know. But what he did know was the creaking of the cracked ice as the slit in the ice followed Peter. Peter’s eyes bulging as the ice cracked underneath him. A shocked cry piercing the air and a panicked gasp before Peter disappeared under the ice. 

The world stood still and spun at the same time, everything too fast, or maybe too slow, too quiet and too loud, too _much_ as Tony strained to see Peter’s head bob above water again.

A choked sob tore free from Tony’s throat when he heard Peter come back up thrashing. “Pete!” Peter clung to the ice and gasped, coughing up water. “Kick your legs out and float! I’m coming to get you,” he grabbed one end of the garden hose from Pepper and crawled out on the ice as fast as he could. 

The gap between him and Peter seemed to grow as Tony slid forward, trying not to disturb the ice even more. The sound of Peter’s choked coughs drove Tony forward with the type of urgency that only comes with seeing your child in a life-or-death situation. 

When he finally reached Peter, he grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled, dragging him up on top of the ice. Peter clung to Tony and tried to speak, but only hacking coughs came out. “I got you, buddy. I got you.”

He pulled Peter to shore, every move slow and calculated, though he wanted to get up and run, to sprint to get Peter back to shore as fast as possible. 

By the time they made it back, Tony was panting from the effort and Peter’s movements were slow and painful. 

Pepper dropped the garden hose that she had been reeling in and out to keep a hold of the two of them in case the ice broke again. She knelt down by the two of them and helped Peter up. “Can you walk, honey?” Peter gave a jerky nod and Tony scrambled to support Peter’s other side as the three of them hobbled up to the cabin in short, stiff steps. 

It seemed like an eternity until they finally passed the threshold into the cabin and Peter collapsed onto the cold tiles of the kitchen, wracked with shivers. 

“Morgan?” Pepper asked. Morgan stared, wide-eyed from the edge of the kitchen. “Can you go grab Petey a towel and some clean clothes? Super fast, okay?” Morgan gave a small, tentative nod and hurried up the stairs to Peter’s room. 

Peter coughed again, an incessant, convulsive sound that brought water up out of Peter’s lungs that dribbled down his chin and onto his chest. Tony and Pepper crouched down and held him up, patting his back as he coughed. “That’s it, bud. Get it all out,”

“Tony,” Peter said, between coughs that sounded more like sobs. 

“I’m right here, kiddo. It’s okay.” Morgan returned with towels and fresh clothes. Tony reached up to the zipper on Peter’s coat, pulling the soaked layer off of him. He tossed it back and it landed on the hard ground with a wet _plop._ Pepper helped peel his t-shirt off and Tony his jeans until Peter was left trembling in his boxers. Tony wrapped him in a fluffy towel and Pepper got up. 

“I’m gonna go stick his clothes in the dryer for a few minutes, I’ll be right back.” She grabbed Morgan’s hand and she followed her out of the room. 

Tony rubbed Peter’s shoulder and they rocked back and forth. “How’s the knee, Pete?”

“It h-hurts,” Peter had to force the words out from his chattering jaw and Tony held him closer. 

Pepper returned with Peter’s clothes and they helped him get dressed. His shivers had subsided and he was oddly still now, eyes absently trained on something in the distance. “Pete, you with us?” Tony felt panic rising in his chest. 

“‘m kinda tired,” Peter’s words slurred together and Tony’s heart pounded. 

“FRIDAY, gimme a temperature reading on the kid.”

“Peter’s core temperature is currently at 93.9 degrees Fahrenheit. It is not advisable to let him sleep until his core temperature returns to his normal 98.7 degrees Fahrenheit.”

Pepper and Tony shared a concerned glance and turned back to Peter. “Let me know when his temp gets there, okay FRI?”

“Will do, Boss.” FRIDAY responded. 

“Alright bud. Let’s get you up and over to the couch, sound good?” He dipped his head and Pepper and Tony walked him over to the couch. His legs were stiff and slow and it felt more like they were dragging him. 

Once Peter was settled on the couch, barely visible under the mountain of blankets piled on top of him, Tony stoked the fire until it was roaring and crackling. 

Morgan padded into the room and sat down on the opposite side of the couch from Peter. “Hi Morgs,” Peter’s small voice said from under the blankets. “What’re you doing?”

“You need cuddles.” 

“He needs cuddles?” Tony repeated. 

“Yeah. He needs cuddles and hot chocolate to warm him up.”

“Well, why don’t you get started with those cuddles and I’ll go get hot chocolate?” She burrowed under the blankets and popped back out next to Peter. 

Once he grabbed the almost-forgotten mug from the kitchen counter, he felt it. It wasn’t hot enough to burn Peter, but it was hot enough to warm him. “Perfect.”

He climbed under the blankets too, and saw that Pepper had joined Morgan and turned on a movie, more for the background noise than anything. He supported Peter’s head and raised the mug to his lips. Peter drank in greedy gulps and Tony pulled the mug away after a few, making sure that Peter wouldn’t get sick from too much.

They watched the movie in silence, Tony keeping an eye on Peter to make sure he never nodded off. 

After a few hours, after Morgan had fallen asleep and they were on their third movie, FRIDAY alerted them that Peter’s temperature had risen to normal. As Peter dozed off, Tony buried his fingers in Peter’s curls, “You gotta stop doing this to me, Pete. You know I have a heart condition,” he dropped a kiss to his forehead. “I love you so much, Pete.”

And though he didn’t expect a response, a muffled _“I love you too.”_ came you from underneath the blankets. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I've been wanting to do this trope for SO LONG and I finally found a way to incorporate it somewhere but massive writer's block ensued and I ended up writing 3/4 of this today (usually I write Monday/Tuesday and have it queued up for Saturday), but oh well. That's life. I hope you all are doing well and I would love to hear what you think!
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr if you want! My url is wh0doyouthinkyouareiam


	6. and it will make you whole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chanting, from the distance: WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP

“How do you think you did on that statistics test today?” Ned asked, copying down the notes from the board. Their chemistry teacher was gone that day, so he just wrote all of the notes and their assignment on the board ahead of time for the students to write down for the day. 

“Alright,” Peter said. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself. The lab classrooms were always colder than the normal classrooms, but were they always _this_ cold? “How about you?”

“I actually feel pretty good about it for once,” he chuckled and opened his textbook to the assignment for the day. “I mean, there were a few questions that I wasn’t sure about, but--” the substitute teacher shushed them and Ned paused for a moment before looking back up at Peter. 

“Same here.” Peter tore out a couple sheets of paper from his notebook and started the assignment. 

“You feel okay, Peter? You’ve been acting kinda off today.” Ned scribbled his name at the top of his paper. 

“I’m--” Peter caught himself before the word _‘fine’_ could escape. He was trying to be more honest, especially with his friends and family. They deserved it. “I’m not feeling great, if I’m being completely honest.” His stomach clenched and he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the waistband of his jeans.

“Are- are you okay, man? Do you need to call Tony?” Other people had started talking now and it seemed as if the substitute teacher had given up on trying to keep the room quiet. Ned’s eyebrows knitted together in concern. 

“Yeah, yeah man. I’m okay. I’m sure it’s just a stomach bug or something. I’ll be fine after I get some rest this weekend.”

“Oh, okay,” Ned said. “You’ve been… you’ve been getting sick a lot recently, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, trying to quell a sudden bout of nausea rising in his throat. “Doctor Banner told me that, uh, PTSD can weaken the immune system.”

“Well, yeah,” Ned turned back to Peter, “You’re kinda focused on so many different things, it makes sense. Hey, um,” Ned’s voice got lighter as he tip-toed over the subject, knowing that Peter didn’t really like to talk about therapy, “How are you doing? With all of that? Still seeing Sam and everything?’

“Yeah, I am. I still see him a couple times a week. More if it’s a bad week. But thankfully--” bile rose in his throat and he forced it back down, “most weeks aren’t bad weeks. At least not anymore.” Ned nodded and the two of them worked for the rest of the period. Or, rather, Ned worked for the rest of the period. Peter spent the time trying not to visibly shiver and ease the pain growing more and more in his stomach with each passing moment. 

When the bell finally rang, Peter slowly uncurled himself from his sitting position, feeling the sweat beading on his forehead. Ned grabbed his elbow and helped him stand when he swayed on his feet. “You sure you’re good?” Peter pressed his lips into a line and nodded, mouth watering as the room spun around him. 

It was lunch hour and Ned and Peter pushed their way through the hordes of students to meet Michelle at their normal spot. 

Peter collapsed into his seat, dropping his head onto the tabletop, and Ned and Michelle shared a concerned glance. “Hey Peter,” Michelle took her spot next to him, leaning down and rubbing a hand on his back. “How are you doing?” Peter could only offer a pained hum through gritted teeth in response. “Do you wanna try eating something?” She unzipped her lunchbox and pulled out a bag of apple slices. She offered him a slice and he sat up and took it. 

He took a small bite of the apple and though he felt his body reject it with every fiber in him, he managed to force the entire slice down.

Peter heard Ned and Michelle’s conversations through a fishbowl. Somehow, the pain in his stomach continued to worsen and the room got colder and colder. 

Things slowed down when Ned pulled out his beef jerky. Peter had never been especially fond of the smell of beef jerky, and now it was absolutely _repulsive._ His stomach clenched and he knew there was no holding it back anymore. 

He tore away from the table, walking toward the bathroom as fast as he could without full-out running. Despite his noticeable gagging, he still had _some_ dignity left. Ned and Michelle followed quickly behind him. 

He burst into the first open stall there was and retched into the bowl, the strain bringing him to his knees. He coughed and bile burned his throat on its way up.

The lunch bell rang and everyone who hadn’t left the bathroom already cleared out now, leaving just Peter, Ned, and Michelle. 

“I’m fine, you guys--” Peter was cut off by another round of painful vomiting. “You can go to class,” he panted, out-of-breath and trembling from the exertion. 

“No, we’re staying. We can catch up to our classes later.”

As Peter’s stomach clenched and he dry-heaved once more, trying to keep himself from cracking the toilet bowl from his grip, his mind wandered back to Tony’s concerned face when he hugged Peter before dropping him off at school. _“You’re a little warm today, bud. You feel okay?”_ At the time, Peter nodded. It was just a stomachache, after all. They had eaten spicy curry the night before, so it was probably just indigestion. 

He could feel Ned and Michelle’s worried glances on the back of his head, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the pounding in his head and his stomach that was rejecting substance that it didn’t even have any more. 

After a few minutes, the vomiting subsided and Peter pressed the button to flush the toilet. He leaned back, exhausted, relentless shivers taking hold of his body. Ned and Michelle crouched down next to him. Michelle pressed the back of her hand to Peter’s forehead. “You’re really hot. What did you say this was? A ‘stomach bug’? This seems more like the flu.” She handed him a damp paper towel and he wiped his mouth.

Ned nodded. “My sister just got it, so it’s definitely going around.”

Peter groaned and pulled out his phone. His shaky fingers selected Tony’s number from his contacts and he leaned his head back on the wall. He picked up on the second ring.

_“Hey kiddo, what’s up?”_

“Are you busy? Am I interrupting anything?”

 _“No, no not at all kiddo. I’m just working on some coding updates with FRIDAY’s chip. What’s goin’ on?”_ AC/DC played loudly in the background of the call. 

“I just… I don’t feel so good. I think I have the flu, or food poisoning, or something.”  
  
 _“Hey, I’m coming to pick you up, okay? I’ll be there in a couple minutes. Are you in class right now?”_

Peter shook his head and cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, in the bathroom. I… I just threw up.” His voice cracked and he shifted to try and relieve some of the pain in his abdomen. 

_“Are you alone in there bud?”_ Peter could hear Tony’s car starting and shifting into gear. 

“No, Ned and MJ are here with me,” he glanced up and they gave supporting looks.

 _“Okay,”_ Tony breathed out. _“Okay, that’s good. Hey, uh, how long have you been feeling this way, bud?”_

“Um,” Peter tried to think back to when his stomach had first started hurting, but the pain drove all other thoughts away. “I--” a gasp cut him off when the pain suddenly worsened, and he writhed on the floor to try and get away. Ned and Michelle reached out, but he shook his head, curling up on his right side. “I’m… not sure.” Every word he forced out felt like a new knife being driven into his abdomen. 

_“That’s okay buddy. Don’t worry about it. I’m almost there, okay? I’ll be there soon.”_ Peter nodded, because it was too painful to try and talk, hoping the minutes would pass quickly.

~

Tony slammed the car into park and sprinted into Midtown Tech. “Which bathroom are you in, kiddo?”

 _“The one off the B wing,”_ Peter’s small voice wrenched Tony’s gut and drove him forward even faster. Peter never told him when he wasn’t feeling well. It just wasn’t a part of who he was. He never liked to be a burden, so for him to call Tony meant that he felt like _crap._

Tony finally made it to the bathroom, only confusing a couple hall monitors on the way there as to why _Tony freaking Stark_ was running through their hallways looking for the bathroom off the B wing. 

When he finally made it, he saw Ned and Michelle kneeling on the floor next to Peter, offering comforting words when he needed them. When they turned to see Tony, they backed up to give the two of them space. 

And as for Peter, the poor kid looked miserable. He was curled up leaning on the wall, arms tightly wrapped around his midsection. When he looked up at Tony, his eyes were brimming with tears. 

Tony slipped his phone into his pocket and crouched down close to Peter. “Hey buddy.” Peter offered a weak _‘hey’_ in response. “Wanna get outta here?” Peter nodded.

Tony turned around for a moment to face Ned and Michelle, nervously standing behind him and Peter. “Thank you both, but I’ve got it from here. You can go to class.” Michelle nodded, and stopped wringing her hands to guide Ned out of the bathroom. Before they reached the threshold into the hallway, Michelle paused. 

“Let us know if he gets worse, or anything,”

Tony nodded. “Will do.” Peter was lucky to have such good friends. 

He turned back to Peter, and pushed himself up before extending a hand to the kid. Peter took it, hand clammy and shaking, other arm still locked around his abdomen. “Ready Pete?” He nodded and sucked in through gritted teeth as Tony pulled him to his feet. He swayed, and Tony pulled him closer to himself, wrapping an arm around Peter’s waist to walk forward. “You okay?” Peter _mmhmm_ ’ed in response. 

By the time the two of them made it out to the car, Peter was white as a sheet, and shaking so bad he could hardly hold himself upright. Tony opened the door and lowered Peter into the front seat. His arms immediately clung to his stomach and Tony buckled his seatbelt before closing the door and walking around to his side of the car. 

He couldn’t shake the sense of doom pressing in on his chest as he drove away, glancing over at Peter in the passenger seat curled in on himself. Tony drove carefully on the way home, being sure to avoid big potholes, or anything that would jar the kid at all. 

He pulled in to the garage of the Tower and eased Peter out. “That’s it, nice and easy.” Tony thought his hand might break from Peter’s grip, but he kept his mouth shut. Peter never acted like this, not even that time he got stabbed while out on patrol, trying to get a woman’s purse back from a mugger. As Tony guided Peter to the elevator, he looked back over the past nine years of his life, the past nine years he’d known Peter. Of course, it had only been four years for Peter. It felt like a lifetime.

As they neared the penthouse, Peter’s face tinged green. “T-Tony, I think I’m gonna--” Peter gagged and tore himself away from Tony before collapsing onto his hands and knees and coughing up bile.

“Quite the food poisoning, huh bud,” Peter nodded and Tony helped hoist him to his feet.

“I’m really sor--” another round of gagging cut him off and he turned his head away from Tony.

“No worries, kiddo. What do you say we camp out in the bathroom for the night? Sound good to you?” Peter nodded again and the two of them hobbled to the bathroom. 

Tony slowly lowered Peter to the floor and Peter sucked in a sharp breath when he hit the ground. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m going to grab some clean PJs for you and I’ll be right back.” Peter made no response, just curled his legs up to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. 

Tony grabbed fresh pajamas from Peter’s drawers, and his stomach knotted itself when he came back into the bathroom. “Okay Pete, I got some clean PJs for you,” Peter winced as he sat up. His trembling fingers slipped as they tried to unbutton his jeans. “Here, let me help,” Peter leaned back and Tony unbuttoned his jeans and helped slide them down his legs. “Sorry bud,” Tony said under his breath. Peter let out a breathy laugh through a clenched jaw that sounded more pained than jovial. 

Tony slipped the fleece pants up Peter’s legs, one leg at a time. When that was done, he reached up to unzip Peter’s jacket and peel off his shirt, clinging to his skin with sweat. He slipped the pajama shirt over Peter’s head and helped him get his arms through.

Peter gagged again and leaned over the toilet and Tony rubbed his back in circles, trying not to let the growing pit in his stomach consume him. It was just food poisoning. But Pepper and Morgan and him had all eaten the curry too, and they were all fine. Well, he felt fine. Pepper and Morgan had left that morning for a mommy/daughter weekend. He pulled out his phone and selected Pepper’s contact.

 _“Hi Daddy!”_ Morgan’s voice came through the speakers on Tony’s phone.

“Hi Morguna. Is Mommy there?”

He heard the phone change hands. _“Hey Tones,”_ her voice was bright with laughter. _“What’s up?”_

“Are you and Morgan feeling alright?”

_“Feeling alright?”_

“Yeah. Poor Pete’s got some sort of a stomach bug and we think it might be food poisoning from curry last night.”

 _“Oh, yeah, we’re both fine. Could it be the flu or something?”_  
  
“Yeah, it could be, but he’s already had the flu this year. Maybe there’s a new strain going around.”  
  
 _“How bad is it?”_ Peter leaned back against the tub and curled his knees up to his chest, weak and spent from heaving for too long. Tony cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear and wet a washcloth. 

“It’s pretty bad,” he wiped the remains of sick from Peter’s chin and tossed the cloth into the hamper. “Called me from school throwing up.”

_“Do you need us to come home?”_

“No, I think we’re good here. He’s been going pretty hard recently, I’m sure he just needs rest and he’ll be as good as new come Monday.” He looked down on Peter, sweating bullets but shivering, eyes squeezed shut, curled up in a ball on the floor and _hoped_ he would be as good as new come Monday. 

_“Alright. Call me if anything changes, okay?”_

“Will do, Pep. Love you.”

 _“Love you too, Tones.”_ She hung up.

Tony brushed a damp curl away from Peter’s face. “Have you had anything to drink today, Pete?” Peter gave a small jerk of his head to mean _no._

“Alright. I’m going to go grab some Gatorade for you. Hang tight, I’ll be right back.”

On his way out to the fridge in the kitchen, Tony snagged a throw blanket from the couch. The last time that Peter had had a fever, Bruce told Tony to give Peter a blanket to keep the shivering down, at least as much as possible. Tony picked a light blue Gatorade, Peter’s favorite. Gatorade was good for getting electrolytes, so said Bruce. 

Tony repeated these things that he knew over and over to quell the dread flowing through his veins. 

When Tony returned to the bathroom, he saw that Peter hadn’t moved at all. He sat down next to him and draped the blanket over his shivering body, heart beating faster and faster with every moment Peter spent curled up in the fetal position. He uncapped the Gatorade and handed it to Peter. Peter accepted the bottle with unsteady hands and raised it to his lips to take a miniscule sip. He gave it back to Tony.

Tony draped his arm around Peter’s shoulders and Peter leaned in towards Tony. “How long have you been feeling so miserable bud?” Peter shrugged stiffly. 

“I… I dunno,” Peter’s words were forced out through clenched teeth. “Didn’t feel good this morning. Got worse.” Tony hummed.

“I’m sorry Pete. Being sick is no fun.” He laced his fingers through Peter’s sweaty curls. “Go ahead and sleep, if you can. Sleep is the best thing for you, when you’re sick. And I know you don’t get a lot of it anyways,” Tony leaned his head back on the wall behind him. “Water, too. You don’t drink much water either. Man, it’s no wonder you’re sick so often these days.”

“I drink water,” Peter protested, words slurring together a little. 

“Yeah, okay. Get some rest, okay Pete? We’ve still got two seasons of _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ left to watch and a full day tomorrow with nothing to do but binge.” Peter nodded.

  
  
  


After sitting next to Peter for a couple of hours, Tony’s back ached like it hadn’t in a long time. He reached over into the cabinet to grab a towel, careful not to move too much and disturb Peter. He stuffed the towel behind him to support his back and looked down at Peter, face still creased in pain, even in sleep. He couldn’t help but think about how Peter would make fun of him and his age if he were awake right now. 

Tony stroked his fingers over Peter’s eyebrows and Peter groaned and shifted a little bit. His skin felt hotter than before, but at least he wasn’t throwing up anymore. 

He pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead and leaned his head back again, wishing he had FRIDAY to give him some sort of medical input. But she was in the lab, and he wasn’t going to risk leaving Peter to go and plug her chip into the mainframe. If Peter woke up and he wasn’t there, Tony knew that Peter would panic.

So instead, Tony stayed there next to Peter. He took to Googling Peter’s symptoms. And when food poisoning and the flu were the only suggestions, Tony started tapping out a text to Bruce, just to be safe. 

**Tony:** Hey Bruce. Peter’s sick again (big surprise, I know). He has a pretty high fever and lots of nausea and puking. In a lot of pain. Dr google says food poisoning or the flu. Should I be worried? 

But before Tony could hit send, Peter sucked in a gasping breath and writhed away from Tony, clutching at his side. Tony dropped his phone in his haste to help Peter, and a choked sob escaped from Peter’s lips. “It-it hurts, Tony, it _hurts,”_ Peter whimpered.

“It’s alright, it’s okay Pete,” he held Peter’s shoulder in an attempt to stop him from moving around so much. Panic rose in his chest but he pressed it back down. “I’m gonna call Bruce, can you tell me where it hurts the most?”

“My s...stomach,” Peter forced out, putting a hand on the lower-right side of his abdomen. Tony’s stomach sank. He knew exactly what was happening without even having to call Bruce. Tony raced to pick up his phone and find Bruce’s contact. He picked up on the third ring. 

_“Hey Tony, what’s up?”_

“Bruce, please tell me you’re in the Tower right now.” Tony fought to keep calm, but it was getting harder with every passing moment because _his kid is in pain and there’s nothing he can do for him._

 _“Um,”_ Bruce paused for a moment, _“I’m actually out grocery shopping right now. What’s going on, Tony?”_

“I think Peter has appendicitis and FRIDAY is out-of-commission so she can’t tell me for sure.”

 _“I’m on my way, but the quickest I can make it there is about thirty minutes. Can he wait that long?”_ Tony looked over to Peter, trying to hold himself together and just barely succeeding.

“He has to. Please hurry.”

_“Are any of the other medical staff still there?”_

“No, I think they all went home for the weekend.”

_“Can you have them come back?”_

“It’s rush hour. It would take them at least an hour to turn around and get back here.” Tony’s chest squeezed and he took a deep breath. 

_“It might just have to be you and me, Tony. Do you think you can get Peter down to the MedBay?”_

“Is it safe to move him?” The room was spinning and everything was too hot, too cold, too dim, too bright, too loud, too quiet and all he could focus on was Peter’s muffled groans and the way he curled tighter in on himself with every second that passed. 

_“It’s safe, just painful. If you can’t do it, I can when I get there, it would just make it quicker in the long run,”_

“I can do it. You just focus on getting here as fast as possible.”

_“Okay. See you soon.”_

Tony knelt down next to Peter and wiped away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “I know it hurts bud, but we gotta move you.” Peter shook his head and his face crumpled. 

“Please, no, Tony I can’t, I _can’t,”_ his breathing hitched and each plea sounded more and more like a sob.

“I know, Pete.” Tony’s gut wrenched hearing Peter like this. “But you have to. I’m so sorry bud,”

“It just,” he sucked in a breath, “It just h...hurts. A lot.”  
  
“You are so brave, Pete. So, so brave.” Tony supported Peter as he pushed himself up so he was sitting up. He pulled Peter up to his feet slowly and held him close to him, upright but less standing on his own than being held up by Tony. “Come on bud. There’s like fifteen steps to the elevator. You can do this.” Peter’s fever burned against Tony’s skin and hot tears darkened Tony’s t-shirt. 

Tony could tell Peter was trying his best, but every tottering step they took together brought another hissing gasp. Tony’s chest ached. He would give anything to trade places with Peter, to take away his pain. He’d been through enough pain and suffering for a lifetime, for a million lifetimes. 

When they finally made it to the elevator, Peter clung to Tony, dropping his whole weight onto him. “Only a little while longer Pete,” Tony wiped fresh tear tracks away. “Soon you’ll have a nice, comfy, MedBay-quality bed to relax in.” Peter didn’t really respond, just closed his eyes. Tony wasn’t sure if any of his words actually reached Peter. 

Tony pushed the MedBay button and the elevator started it’s descent. Every second was agonizing for Tony, watching Peter go paler and paler every moment. 

When they finally made it to the MedBay floor, Tony carried most of Peter’s weight, trying to ignore his pained pleas in pursuit of the closest bed he could find. He laid Peter on the bed gently and Peter immediately curled up on his right side, as tight as he could. Tony rested his hand on Peter’s mop of curls and pulled out his phone.

 **Bruce:** 24 minutes out. Don’t give Peter any meds before I get there. Call if he deteriorates.

He dialed Pepper’s number.

_“How is Peter?”_

“We think it’s appendicitis, Pep.”

 _“Is he going to be okay?”_ He could hear curious inquiries from the other side of the line. _“What’s wrong, Mommy?”_

“He’s, uh, he’s in a lot of pain right now. Bruce is on his way back to the Tower right now, and he’s gonna help Pete out, give him some meds, and we’ll see where to go from there.” He sighed. “I just wanted to keep you in the loop on what’s happening.”

_“We’re coming home. We’ll be back in a couple hours.”_

“Okay. See you soon. Love you Pep. Tell Morgan I love her too.”

 _“I will. Talk to you soon.”_ She hung up.

He set his phone on the table next to Peter’s bed and the silence was deafening. Peter looked so small and so pale on the large MedBay bed designed for the likes of Steve Rogers. 

Tony crawled up onto the bed and Peter nestled into his side, forehead uncomfortably pressing into his ribs. Tony draped the sheet over Peter and Peter pulled the sheet up around his neck, fever still rising. “You’re doing so good bud. I’m so proud of you.” Peter just wrapped his arms tighter around his midsection. 

Peter cried, quietly, occasionally taking a sudden, gasping breath in, and Tony counted down the minutes and seconds until help would arrive. 

Twenty minutes.

Seventeen minutes.

Sixteen minutes. It felt like a lot longer than a minute since he last checked the time.

Twelve minutes. 

Tony felt his eyes being drawn to the clock, watching the seconds count up to minutes that seemed to last for eternities. 

The room was void of Peter’s usual incessant chatter, and there was no noise coming from him, aside from the occasional tearful hiccup of pain. Tony rubbed Peter’s scalp, trying to provide some relief.

He grabbed his phone to check for texts from Bruce. Nothing. He sighed and set it back down on the table.

A couple more minutes passed, or maybe only a couple seconds. “I don’t know about you, but I still think a day of _Brooklyn_ tomorrow is a good idea, even if the girls are coming back home,” Tony filled the silence with the sound of his own voice. “I know Pepper doesn’t really like it, but they can go wa--” Peter tensed and cried out.

“I’m s...sorry, you can… oh Tony it hurts,” he moaned. Tony’s heart raced. Peter shifted and a piercing whine escaped his lips.

“You’re alright, you’re gonna be okay, Bruce is almost here.” Peter shook his head and tried to bite back another sob.

“It g-got w...worse,” Peter’s breathing picked up and Tony knew he was close to hyperventilating. 

“I know, buddy, I know. I’m so sorry.” Tony fought hard against his body’s instinct to panic, trying to keep his voice calm so as not to worry Peter more than he already was. “But you’ve gotta calm down. I know it’s hard, but trust me. Take a deep breath.” Tony took loud, exaggerated breaths for Peter to follow. Peter tried to fill his lungs, but dissolved into hiccups.

“I can’t,” he panted.

“Come on Pete,” Tony whispered, hoping the knot in his stomach didn’t show in his voice. “Try, for me.” Peter followed a few more breaths, and he finally was able to suck down a lungful of air. “Good boy. Keep doing that, alright? I’m just gonna call Bruce.”

The phone rang. _“I’m five minutes out.”_

“He’s getting worse, Bruce. Please hurry.”

 _“I’m going as fast as I can. See you in five.”_ He hung up.

Tony curled himself around Peter, whispering comforting words he wasn’t quite sure Peter could hear through the fog. 

The five minutes passed agonizingly slow, but finally the elevator doors slid open and Bruce’s heavy footfalls ran in to the MedBay. “Bruce,” Tony greeted. Peter didn’t move. 

Bruce rested his hand on Peter’s ankle and Peter pressed harder into Tony’s side. “Hey Peter, Tony told me you’re not feeling super well. Can you tell me where it hurts?”

“My stomach,” Peter’s voice was high and quiet.

“I’m gonna take an X-ray, if that’s okay with you,” Bruce moved the X-ray machine and positioned it over the bed. “Peter, I’m gonna need you to lay flat, okay? Can you do that for me?” Peter didn’t respond. 

Tony leaned over, forehead resting on the crown of Peter’s head. “I know it hurts, but you gotta follow Bruce’s instructions. He’s here to help you feel better.” Peter gave a small shake of his head. 

“I can’t,” Peter whispered. 

“You can, buddy. I know you can.” Bruce held Peter’s ankles as Peter eased his legs down, whole body shaking with effort, face scrunched and pale. “That’s it, kiddo. Good boy. Can you put your arms over your head?” Peter raised his arms and a tear traced a new path down the side of his face, leaking into his hair.

“Tony, can I have you stand up?” Peter looked up, glassy brown eyes begging him not to.

“No, Tony, please,” he sucked air in through gritted teeth and instinctively tried to curl back up into the fetal position. Bruce held his legs, and Tony his shoulders, keeping him laying flat.

“It’s just for a minute bud, I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” Tony stood up and his vision blurred, but he held strong. He needed to be strong. For Peter. 

“Alright,” Bruce pressed a button on the overhead machine and it whirred before clicking, sounds that Tony could barely hear over Peter’s groans. An X-ray image appeared on the computer screen on the other side of Peter’s bed. “That’s it, good job.” He released Peter’s legs, and Peter let out a wet sob and curled back up again. 

Bruce walked closer to the X-ray image and Tony stooped down, pressing his forehead into Peter’s. “You’re doing so great, buddy. You’re going to be feeling better in no time.”  
  
“His appendix is definitely ruptured. He needs surgery.” Peter’s eyes flew open to search for Tony, shaking his head _no._ One of his hands reached up for Tony’s.

“It’ll be okay, everything’s gonna be okay.” Tony pushed to keep his voice from rising. Bruce thumbed through a drawer of pre-filled syringes and found the ones made for Peter. He pulled it out, along with two bags of saline. 

“You’re going to be just fine, Peter.” Bruce hung the bags on a pole by Peter’s bed and attached the line to a needle. “Can you hold out your arm for me, Peter?” Bruce stuck the line into Peter’s arm and Tony held his breath. “You’re going to start feeling a little sleepy in a couple minutes, Peter. We’re just gonna put you under for a few minutes while we clean up your insides.”

Tony watched as Peter’s wide eyes started to droop when the line was initially put in, eventually slipping closed. Tony let out the breath he had been holding and rubbed his thumb over Peter’s knuckles. The tears he’d worked so hard to hold back now leaked down his cheeks. “You should have a seat, Tony.” Bruce’s voice cut through to Tony’s thoughts. “You’re looking a little pale.” He felt himself nodding, but all he could think about was about how Peter, his Peter, his _kid_ had a ruptured appendix and he hadn’t noticed until it was almost too late.

“How long has he been experiencing discomfort?” Bruce asked while pulling Peter’s shirt off and disinfecting the incision areas with scrubbed and gloved hands. 

Tony shook his head and brought Peter’s hand up to his forehead. “I don’t know,” Tony’s jaw tensed. “He had a little fever when I dropped him off at school this morning, and ten hours later here we are.” Bruce nodded and pulled out a tray of medical tools from behind the station.

“I’ve got it from here, if you need to go take a breather,” Tony shook his head. 

“I need to stay here. In case he wakes up, or needs me, or…” he trails off, “ Or something.”  
  
“I understand. Just know that if you need to step out at all, Peter will be fine.” Tony nodded. “This shouldn’t take very long, probably only an hour at most. We’ll only know for sure once we get in there.” Tony nodded and let his head droop on his neck as Bruce got to work. 

  
  
  


The surgery didn’t take more than an hour. Forty five minutes, tops. But by the end, Tony was spent. He couldn’t relax until Peter was stitched back up, on the road to recovery. 

A couple hours after Bruce completed the surgery, Peter’s eyes flitted awake. “Tony?” Peter asked, voice thick. Tony squeezed his hand. 

“Well, look who finally wakes up,” he said. “How’re you feeling?”  
  
Peter let out a breathy laugh. “A lot better than before.” He leaned his head back against the pillows. “Hey, uh, thanks for taking care of me.”

“Pete, you don’t need to thank me.”

“I know, I just… I really appreciate you and everything you’ve done for me. I want you to know that. I know I’m not always the best at showing it.” He squeezed Tony’s hand.

The elevator opened and tiny footsteps pattered toward Tony and Peter.

“Petey,” Morgan whisper-yelled. Pepper’s heels clicked on the linoleum floor of the MedBay, following Morgan in.

“Yeah Morgs?”

“Do you feel better?” He smiled. 

“I feel lots better.”

Tony leaned his head on Pepper’s hip and she rested her hand on his shoulder. He drank in the sight of his family like it was an oasis in a desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I'm tired. I just realized that I've posted at least one chapter a week of a multi-chapter work for almost 6 months straight now. I think I'm gonna take a break for a while😂
> 
> Thank you all so much for taking this journey with me! While this certainly wasn't my best writing, it definitely is helping me get through quarantine, and I can only help it's getting you all through your quarantine experiences too. Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Feel free to come chat with me on tumblr! My url is wh0doyouthinkyouareiam


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